


I never realised confessing would be so enjoyable...

by Aeriane_Parkes



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Don't copy to another site, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, John's kind of a psychiatrist?, Like, M/M, Redbeard is not a dog, Sherlock Is Basically Eurus, Slow Burn, What Have I Done, like really slow burn, sherrinford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29185872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeriane_Parkes/pseuds/Aeriane_Parkes
Summary: After the death of his wife, John Watson began to seek out new job opportunities to support his young daughter. He thought his luck was beginning to change when he was approached to take up a open position out of town. He never expected for this new beginning to take such a drastic turn when he was sent to evaluate a dark-haired man in a maximum security facility.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was absolutely inspired by highlyfunctioning_malfoy and their work "a common condition" so the inspiration and idea I got for this goes to them! I just couldn't help myself and decided to try my hand at it and rework this inspiration into my own story.

The whirring of the helicopter's blades pounded in john's ears through the noise cancelling headphones, the commotion kept him from hearing the man sat across from John, who could barely get a word across the short distance between them.

It was to John's relief once they landed on the landing of Sherrinford, a place that technically did not exist to the rest of the world outside the British government, as the helicopter's engine shut off. The man across from him motioned for John to stand, both of them quickly exiting the vehicle and fixing themselves after the genuinely painful journey.

"well Doctor Watson, I apologize for the dreadful trip but I suppose this is a necessary evil of the facility. Shall we proceed inside?"

The man gestured with the point of his umbrella as John quickly followed behind him, looking around the rocky edges of the island where the water was drawn away in the tide into an ocean that seemed to stretch out as far as the eye could see; If there was even a possibility for escape from this place, they certainly were not going to make it to land alive. 

They were led through several levels of secure steel doors, more men seeming to fall in step behind them as they continued on. They soon reached a set of elevator doors that one of the men behind them swiftly opened, John and the man stepped inside. A sudden feeling of dread sitting in his stomach as the elevator closed and they began to descend.

The man's voice didn't calm his nerves as he spoke up "Doctor Watson, you were chosen for this assignment due to your military experience, as well as your ability to provide psychiatric therapy under extreme duress. Your assignment over the next few weeks requires you remain professional and distant, do you understand?"

John looked up to him, his shoulders straightening as he attempted to make himself seem taller than he really was. 

"I understand, is there any information about the patient that I need to be made aware of?"

He received a stiff nod in response, a file being placed into his hand that he quickly looked over.

**Holmes, William Sherlock Scott**

**Age: 29**

**Mental Condition: Sociopathic tendencies**

**IQ: 179**

**Specific capabilities: Photographic memory**

**Past indiscretions: history of nicotine and substance abuse, all visitors are to be checked for such items**

**Annual/** Quarterly **needs: psychiatric evaluation to determine mental stability, do NOT under any circumstances allow the evaluator to remain unsupervised for extended periods of time.**

**Additional notes: ~~Do not mention~~ ~~Red beard~~**

He could barely make out the redacted information before the man began to speak again

"I must implore you to keep your distance from the glass barrier we keep between him and visitors. We've had a few incidents in the past with him. As well as evaluating Holmes, we will ask you to ask him a few questions from the provided list in his folder. Take this earpiece,"

He handed him a minuscule Bluetooth speaker that he tucked into his ear, taking a moment to adapt to the dull buzzing from the microphone on the other end. 

"if we lose a visual connection on you both, we will attempt to contact you with it. If you feel you are in danger, simply say the words 'Vatican Cameos', I'm sure you're familiar with the phrase."

"I am sir, I have to say, I don't understand why Mr Holmes is in Sherrinford. From his file he seems to have remarkable intelligence with tendencies towards sociopathic behavior, hardly a danger to society in the correct context."

The man straightened himself at the statement, his grip on the handle of his umbrella tightening enough to turn his knuckles a disturbing shade of white.

"Doctor Watson, I have a rather personal connection to Mr Holmes and I can assure you he is much more than a genius with a lack of emotions. I will inform you of the reason once the time has come if he does not tell you himself."

He straightened himself once the elevator doors opened, John following behind him as they made their way down a bare corridor to a secure looking door. After this John began to descend to the room on his own

>>>>>>>>>

The tender sound of violin music was the first thing John heard as he descended the stairs to the room, the music seeming to float through the air to his ears and draw him ever closer to its source.

Its source was a sight indeed, a head of dark curls that rested on a lithe and tall figure. His skin almost seeming translucent against the bright fluorescent light of his box and the stark white pajamas he wore, making him seem almost ethereal.

He barely noticed that he was already too close to the glass when the sharp screech of violin strings hit his ears, causing him to back away as quick as he could. the music soon turning back to its light and sweet song.

he was attempting to gather his thoughts after the disruption when a silky baritone voice pierced the music, seeming to make it obsolete in that moment.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" 

"I.. I'm sorry, what?"

"I asked you, Afghanistan or Iraq. Do keep up"

his violin now hung down at his side, his startling blue eyes shifting to gray and back again as they studied John, his face seemingly only sharp angles as his eyes could've bore through him.

"Hm.. Daughter, age...3? blond, blue eyes, extremely intelligent for such a young age. It's a pity her mother can't see it.." 

The tone of his voice was anything but sympathetic, a slight smile on his face as he watched the confusion and outrage flash along John's face. 

"I- How did you-"

"If you could stop with the mouth agape expression, this will go much quicker."

Holmes walked over to the single white square that John could only guess was a bed and set his violin down, soon making his way to the edge of the glass room where John was and sat down on the floor. Motioning for John to do the same.

"Um, alright..."

He sat down on the floor as well, keeping his folders and papers close to him as he tried to reorganize his thoughts.

"Alright, Mr Holmes-"

"Sherlock."

"...Sherlock. My name is Dr Watson and I'll be your evaluator for the next few weeks. Now, I've been told you've had several evaluations before?"

Sherlock only let out a small hum in conformation, his fingers running over the smooth tiled floor in disinterest.

"I can understand how you would find all of this boring, it isn't necessarily the most interesting subject to-"

He could barely finish his sentence when Sherlock let out a loud groan just to stop John from talking. rubbing his hands roughly over his eyes as he couldn't stand such a boring and domestic conversation.

"Good lord, is this what you people do all day? Just drag on and on with their sentences to appear polite in society without actually saying anything? Why don't we talk about something actually interesting?"

John could only sit quietly on the floor, the constant interruption from this man reminding him strangely of his own daughter when she was first learning manners; he was honestly shocked anyone else could've stood to evaluate him.

"Alright Sherlock.. What were you thinking of?"

A small smile grew on Sherlock's lips, a small glint in his eyes casting a predatory look on his face like a predator ensnaring its prey.

"How did your wife die?"

A cold shiver ran through John's body as the question passed through the both of them, his fingers tightening into a fist beside his leg as he attempted to remain calm.

"...I don't think that's any concern of yours."

"Ooh, still a sensitive subject I see. Must've been recent..."

The continuous smirk that grew on Sherlock's face was too much for john, the idea this man barely knew him and yet knew so much information about him was at first amazing, but this was too much for him.

"This isn't relevant information for you to know Mr Holmes. If you're going to act like a child with morbid curiosity, then I'm going to leave."

He quickly packed up his things and began walking to the stairway, he wasn't about to deal with a man who seemed completely disinterested with his own well being and only could focus on-

"okay- okay john, wait."

John looked back to Sherlock at the bottom of the stairs, his hand gripping the railing as he looked back the man in the box, seeing he looked almost like a small child curled up on the floor.

"If... I won't ask about her again, and we can continue the evaluation."

John slowly lowered his hand from the railing, fully facing Sherlock with a hesitant demeanor as he took a step towards him.

"You won't interrupt me with your deductions?"

"I promise.." Sherlock looked up to see the distrust still evident on John's face.

".....Please...."

John took a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair as he walked back and sat down on the ground again.

"Alright then, let's get back to it. first question..."

Sherlock quietly sat through the questions, only speaking to answer the questions when needed. Something about him leaving made a pit grow in his stomach that he never had felt before; Something about this new evaluator made him feel something that he hadn't felt in a very long time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story doesn't really follow a format with the time each chapter is in during John's weeks evaluating Sherlock, but follows the most memorable moments during it. This may change as it gets closer to the end but we'll have to see what happens

_Rain soaked into Sherlock's as he ran along the pebbled shore beside the river. His ankles wanting to give away onto the stones every other step, yet he felt exhilarated as he looked ahead of him._

_A wooden sword in his hand, he kept his eyes on the red-haired boy running in front of him. Victor looked back to Sherlock, a large smile plastered on his face even with the eye patch covering most of his expression._

_“Come on Sherlock, Keep up!”_

_Sherlock smiled through ragged breaths, watching Victor run up to a small cliff that hung over the rushing rapids of the river and wave his arms to Sherlock._

_Sherlock made his way up the slight cliff to the top, taking a moment to catch his breath as he walked over to Victor; Their game had stopped for just a moment._

_“Oh come on Sherl, you’re starting to get like Mycroft.”_

_The air fell silent between them before they let out exhausted laughter. Both of them soon sitting down on the edge of the cliff and watching the dark, icy water flow beneath them as their shoes gently brushed together every so often._

_Victor laid his head on Sherlock’s shoulder, giggling to himself as his friend’s dark curls tickled his nose and he had to turn away to sneeze._

_The moment between them was peaceful, serene even if Sherlock attempted to describe it. The two of them together in their own world away from everything else in the world. Nothing else mattered._

_Yet it never stayed that way for long.._

_All he could feel was cold water soaking through the layers that failed to keep him warm, his hands frantically searching the silt laden bottom of the lake until his hands gripped the torn jumper of his friend._

_“Victor- Victor please wake up!”_

_His friend didn’t move beneath the water, his hollow gaze staring through Sherlock as the last few bubbles of breath left his mouth. Sherlock desperately grasping at his cold skin and attempting to shake him awake._

_“No, no, No, NO Victor PLEASE!”_

_“Sherlock, what have you done?”_

_“Nothing! I swear I didn’t do anything! Please just help him!”_

_“Oh Sherlock…”_

_Sherlock…_

Sherlock.

“Sherlock!”

His eyes snapped open to find himself laid in the middle of his box on his back, his hands clasped around the cranium of a skull with papers surrounding him on almost every surface available to him.

John looking him over with an intense gaze of confusion at what just happened.

“Hm? Oh, hello John. I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

John looked him over as he crossed his arms over his chest, possibly a way to comfort himself from the strange situation that was occurring in front of him.

“Do you… Okay, one question at a time. What is with the papers?”

Sherlock looked around him, then around at the papers hung on string around his box in possibly every direction. Creating what almost looked like a web that was spun through out the box.

“Oh, just something I’m working on is all.”

“Do they let you have all this?”

he gestured towards the papers of pictures and newspaper clippings that blocked out the view.

“Yes John. I don’t think there’s anywhere for me to hide all of this on a regular basis.”

He gave him a small smirk as he sat up, his fingers tapping against the yellowed skull he kept close to his chest.

“Alright, that’s understandable. Last question… who is that?’

He pointed the best he could past the glass towards the skull in Sherlock’s lap. Making his way towards where he usually sat during their sessions as Sherlock looked down at the item. His gaze locked with the empty sockets as his thumb ran along the bridge of the nose.

“Just.. Just an old friend of mine.”

John looked up from his papers with a slight smile on his face. It was a little disturbing that he had such an item, but he couldn’t blame him if it was that important to him.

“Oh? That’s nice. He must’ve been really important to you.”

Sherlock gave him a small nod as he lifted his gaze to john. His eyes having an expression that that John couldn’t recognize before Sherlock stood and placed the skull on his bed. Sitting back down where he was.

“He was… He was very important to me.”

“May I ask how he passed?”

A pregnant pause of the question laid between them, Sherlock's hold on the skull kept it closer to his chest as he felt his throat begin to burn; he took a shaky breath, struggling to swallow as he tried to keep his voice steady. 

“…He drowned in the river near my home. I found him.”

The room was intensely quiet for a painful moment, Sherlock standing up to walk around his papers and distract himself from the all too well known conversation that was coming.

“Sherlock, I’m sorry..”

Sherlock let out a deep sigh as he reorganized his papers. Taking new strings of paper and overlapping them to create an intricate pattern that couldn't make sense to anyone else but him.

“Sorry never did anything for me, John. I doubt it will now.”

“Yes, but even if it won’t do anything for you, it’s a way for people to tell you they care about you.”

John looked to see Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as they looked him over, John beginning to feel as if he was being interrogated when Sherlock made his way to the glass and sat down as well.

“You just said you care about me.”

It was now John's turn to get a lump in his throat, scratching at the back of his neck as he searched for words to say.

“Well I.. I just mean as a friend is all Sherlock,”

The subtle deflection of his words were seemingly useless on the man, as his gaze only intensified the more John spoke.

“Sherlock, stop looking at me like that.”

Sherlock gave a small eye roll as he crossed his arms, a rather childlike action in John’s mind that was only saved by the eventual softening of the man’s features.

“I care about you too, John. As a friend of course.”

The last add on left a smile on john’s face, a laugh soon escaping his throat as he began to reach for his papers. Neither noticing that high above them in the first level of the facility, Mycroft watched over him. His brow furrowed in confusion at the scene that fell before him that he soon paused. 

He ran his hands over his face that soon rested at his temples, he knew this was a bad idea after their first meeting but John was one of the only men who could get Sherlock to talk to him. It was a calculated risk that was not ending in his favor, nor was it going to end in either John or Sherlock's. He needed to stop this before it became like the last incident.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was already so long that I had to break it up, but I think i'm going to enjoy writing the next chapter :) . I just think this story could use a little fluff

John could only assume the worst when he arrived at Sherrinford to see it in complete disarray. Guards scrambling around the perimeter of the facility, locking doors and finding their positions to guard any entrance they could find, all the while Mycroft stood contently leaning on his umbrella watching the scene unfold.

  
John quickly made his way over to Mycroft, his own demeanor anything but calm as he came to his side and rested his hand on the man’s shoulder.

  
“Sir, what’s going on? Is something wrong?”

  
Mycroft only gazed down at him with a slight grin on his face. Something that could be easily misconstrued as sinister in the right context.

“Why Mr. Watson, of course there isn’t anything wrong. This is simply the preparations for a day such as today.”

  
“Which is what exactly?”

  
Mycroft let a small sigh escape his nose as he twirled his umbrella in his hand. Pondering if a question like that was worth answering, before deciding he might as well.

  
“Today, Mr. Watson is Sherlock Holmes’ birthday.”

  
John was understandably taken aback by the statement, why was there such a commotion over an inmate’s birthday. Yes, there is an effort to make a birthday special in cases like this, but he’d never heard of all officers and guards leaving the facility.

  
“And what does that have to do with all of this?”

  
“Well, as I have a certain connection to Sherlock, I have noticed he responds best when he is able to walk through his surrounds. This certainly isn’t a new practice to Sherrinford since you arrived; it’s been active since he was 17 when he was not responding well to his evaluators. As custom, we seal up any entrance to other inmates, do not allow any access to files or specific rooms, and we allow him to wander through Sherrinford and allow his thoughts to wander to what he needs to understand without having to remain in a box. It certainly is better than allowing him the use of narcotics and drugs, don’t you think?”

  
John was practically stunned silent at this knowledge, how could they possibly think it was wise to allow someone with access to almost the entire facility and not expect it to end horribly? Even with all the progress he was making with Sherlock through their sessions, he could never be sure of what he was capable of outside his room.

  
“Yes, I’m sure it is a better option, but is allowing him access to the facility any better? Do you ever let anyone of his evaluators to at least accompany him to make sure he _doesn't_ get access to those rooms?”

  
Mycroft turned to look him straight in the eye, his gaze harsh as it could almost burn through him and leave only a pile of ash. If only that were the case. He would've loved if he was able to be blown away by the wind in that moment.

  
“There is a certain reason why Sherlock his kept away from his evaluators, Mr. Watson. Anyone who grows close to him is in danger the more often they come back, this is why we do not allow the same evaluator back more than once. If you are suggesting that we risk the safety of others in order to comfort him, I’m beginning to question your qualifications for this.”

  
They remained silent after that, a small pit of anger seething in John’s stomach as he watched guards finalized their position before Mycroft spoke into a radio link. John took this as an opportunity to slink away from the man, making his way far enough from the group to another entrance that was already sealed up and the guard was not happy to see John walking towards him.

  
“Sir, you are not permitted to be in this area. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  
John sighed as he pulled out his identification, holding it up to the guard allowing him to scan it before a smirk appeared on his face; It wasn't the first time they didn't want to let him in for various reasons.

  
“Sorry sir, no one is allowed in the facility at this time and I’m going to ask you to leave one more time or else I’ll have to use force.”

  
John did not have time for this today, he felt himself crack his knuckles and straighten himself. The frustration evident on his face as he was completely prepared to dislocate the man’s jaw and cause a major disturbance until the man blocking him leaned into the mic in his ear, murmured back a response and moved aside to allow John inside.

  
He didn’t bother questioning him about the sudden change of heart; he made his way through the narrow hallway and up stair levels till he made it to an unguarded door. His heart practically jumping out of his chest as he slid his card to open the door and pulled it open.

  
He was greeted with absolute silence within the room he entered, a single step of his echoing around the room as he made his way through it. Looking through the stairways and attempting to open locked door to try and find where Sherlock was.

  
He was just about to give up and admit defeat when he felt the almost silent footsteps of well-made shoes approach behind him.

  
“John?”

  
He quickly turned around to first notice Sherlock still his usual distance away as he was during their meetings. A small comfort to John when the uncertainty of this meeting was already high.

  
The second thing he noticed the slim, well-tailored black suit overlapping a navy dress shirt. The dark coloring only seeming to accentuate his pale neck as the first two buttons of the shirt were opened. His startling blue eyes taking center stage until Sherlock looked away from john to fiddle with his jacket.

  
It was a small relief as john was given the opportunity to look away and collect his thoughts again.

  
“Sherlock, I’ve been looking for you for a while. Thought I almost walked into the sector with the cannibals and was about to… leave.. Can I ask about the suit?”

  
Sherlock gave him a gentle shrug, fixing a curl in his face as he couldn’t help but stand awkwardly in that moment.

  
“It’s just something that I was given a while ago. I’m surprised I still fit in it,” he looked up to john and straightened himself out. Giving himself a facade of confidence to John being in such close distance from him without any barrier. “Did they let you inside?”

  
John gave him a small nod, making his way over to him. “Pretty unwillingly, but they let me in nonetheless. I think it’s ridiculous for you to just wander around an empty facility on your birthday of all days. I hope you don’t mind if I join you?”

  
A small smile appeared on Sherlock’s face as he nodded, beginning to lead the way towards the next room his was headed to. Sherlock’s hand slowly lacing into John’s as their hands swayed together between their bodies, and John let him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I seriously write almost over 3000 words for this chapter? my English teachers would be proud of me :')

The two peacefully walked along each corridor of Sherrinford. Sherlock pointing out the interesting things that weren’t already locked away, as well as making slights towards the idea that they shouldn’t have even let an inmate have the ability to map out the building. John agreed whole-heartily , still having no idea how this ever became an idea in the first place.

They had just made their way up to the main level deck, ‘the one with the most breakable windows’ John noted as they walked by each deserted office and peeked inside. Looking over the documents that were scattered on the floor and tables from a hasty exit, Sherlock simply walked into one and looked through a few files. Laughing to himself as he read through them.

“is this what they let you do every time?” John looked around the office as he picked up the papers and set them on the desk. Keeping himself from glancing at the file Sherlock was currently reading to continue cleaning.

“I suppose? They’ve never given any exact details about why they let me wander around but I assume it’s to give me a sense of freedom, they think it’ll make me open up more..” He loudly blew a curl from his face as he tossed the file aside, taking John by the wrist and walking down the hallway.

John could barely keep up with his long strides, nearly tripping several times as he followed him down the hallway. He was about to ask Sherlock where in the world he was going when he stopped abruptly, causing John to bump into his back.

He looked over his should to see the warm yellow light of small candles sitting on a picnic blanket. Plates of food, drink and small snacks scattered on the blanket with a neatly frosted cake sitting in the middle of it all.

John could only smile as he looked over the scene, seeing the reward for all their exploring and aching feet right in front of them in all its glory. John son moved to Sherlock’s side, his hand still in his, he gently pulled him towards to blanket.

“John, wait.” Sherlock was fairly hesitant of the sight, having never found this little picnic when he was searching any other time. Something didn’t feel right about this.

John turned back to look up at Sherlock, seeing the nervousness on his face and his own expression soften. His thumb unconsciously rubbing the outside of his hand to calm him. “Hey, it’s alright. There’s nothing wrong here, it’s just a way of celebrating your birthday.”

This seemed to relax Sherlock enough to let him sit on the blanket, John following suit as he looked around the spread. Soon pouring both of them a glass of wine as he took a bite of a finger sandwich.

“Has this really never been here before?”

Sherlock gently shook his head, looking still cautious to the whole thing. The only thing keeping him steady was the continuous hold of John’s hand in his own.

They ate quietly for a moment, the air tense with a sudden question john felt compelled to say.

“How did you know I went to Afghanistan?”

“Sorry?” he looked up from the rim of the wine glass to John; barely realising he’d spoken with how quiet it was.

“The first day we spoke, you asked me ‘Afghanistan or Iraq?’ you never explained to me how you knew that.”

Sherlock looked over him for a moment, his eyes scanning every possible inch of his face as John sat in increasing discomfort.

“I didn’t know, John. I saw you were recently tanned, but none above the wrists so you haven’t been sun bathing but have been abroad recently. Your haircut and posture scream military, a tie clip that was most likely a gift, from St. Bart’s hospital meaning you studied to become a doctor but instead became a psychologist. Your barely existing limp confirming my suspicion of you being wounded in action. So wounded, military doctor, Afghanistan or Iraq?”

John could only stare back at him in shock, his mouth slightly agape as he attempted to find words that could express how he felt.

“That’s amazing”

“Really?” Sherlock let a small smile grow on his face as he looked over to john. A slight relief that he didn’t know he was holding in washed over his face as he grew more comfortable at his words.

“Yeah, really. Did you do the same thing when you mentioned my daughter?” He gave him a soft smile as well, taking sips of his wine as he continued to look to him. Seeing Sherlock nod in confirmation.

“That one was fairly easier to deduce, her age based on your ring, still fairly clean but the style is at least four years old. A man of your personality seem to want children soon after marriage so estimating the time it takes to get pregnant, I estimated around three. The blonde and blue eyes was easy genetics and intelligence… I saw a drawing she’d given you in a folder and saw it was fairly good.”

John could only laugh at the end, his thumb rubbing over his wedding ring while he tried not to choke on his wine. “Oh wow, you are good… okay, let’s stop talking about me. let's start actually celebrating your birthday.” he gently slid the cake tray over and cut them both a slice, both of them beginning to happily eat their slices.

John hardly noticed the file that poked out from underneath the cake platter until he moved it; he pulled it out when Sherlock was taking a drink. Letting it slip into his lap and look over the updated photo of Sherlock in the corner, he looked over the cover for on a moment before he slipped it into his coat. He was not going to read it now, not after everything.

>>>>>>>>>>>

They were so rudely interrupted when a soft beeping emitted from the silent hallway, the sound making both of their heads turn towards its source.

Sherlock could only sigh and stand as he looked to see Mycroft and several guards walking towards them, John quickly standing up as well to stand beside Sherlock.

They continued to calmly walk towards John and Sherlock until they stood in front of them, John only moving closer to Sherlock as Mycroft looked him over.

“Mr. Watson, what did I tell you about coming inside of the building today?”

“Did you really think I’d listen to it?”

“No, not really. We know how you are so we expected this. Why do you think you were even let inside in the first place?” Mycroft gave him a soft sigh, barely seeming bothered by John's impertinence as he continued on. Ignoring the glare he was currently receiving from the shorter man.“Never mind that now, I’m sure Sherlock knows what happens now.”

Sherlock could only roll his eyes, moving away from john to walk towards Mycroft.“Don’t patronize me Mycroft. I’m perfectly capable of walking back by myself.”

John was watching this all play out as he anxiously tapped his fingers against his thigh. Wondering why Sherlock was so calm having to go back to being a captive in a small box, staying like that for possibly the rest of his life.

“Okay, all of this is absolutely ridiculous.”

Mycroft looked over his shoulder to John, the small raise in his eyebrow just being the smallest indicator of his annoyance. “What could you possibly meant by that Watson?”

“This! All of this! There is no reason for him to be here.” He waved his arms wildly to the room, not understanding why he would even ask such a question.

John barely heard the slight plea from Sherlock, his anger beginning to boil once he heard him.

“John, stop.”

“No, I’m serious! I have evaluated him for weeks and I have he shows no signs of anything you described him to be. Even now, I sat and walked with him for nearly 3 hours and he shows nothing of what you’re claiming is wrong with him! Why is he even in Sherrinford? It seems to me you’ve been keeping Sherlock here for absolutely no reason!”

Mycroft only calmly rolled his shoulders, and turned to fully face John. Yet John began to see the flame burning in his eyes when he looked over him, the rage beginning settle as a smirk grew on his face.

“I see you clearly haven’t read his file then.”

“Obviously not, whatever is in there is his own business.”

The smirk grew just slightly on Mycroft's face, as he spoke again.“I suggest you read it, Watson. For your own sake, its best if you read it.”

“Why-“

The seemingly deafening thump of the man's umbrella silenced him, allowing him to get his message through to the stubborn man. “Read. It. Or would you like one of us to read it like a bedtime story?”

He let out a frustrated sigh as he pulled the file folder from his coat pocket, looking over to Sherlock who hold his head to look another way.

Without any confirmation that this was going to end well, he hesitantly opened the file to see a police report, filled out along with pictures that made his blood run cold.

_FILE NAME: REDBEARD_

_Sherlock Holmes, age 7, was reportedly seen by the river near his family home of Musgrave hall holding Victor Trevor, age 8, under the water until he was no longer breathing. His brother Mycroft Holmes, age 14, was the one who found them. Having to pull Sherlock off the body as the boy seemed to not understand what he had done. He was asking for his brother for help to wake Victor up, seemingly unaware that he had drowned the victim._

**_1 st Psychiatric evaluation._ **

_Patient is unwilling to speak about incident or his friend Victor. The patient seems non-responsive when mentioned of that day, unwilling to speak for the rest of the session once it is mentioned. He child is seemingly traumatized by his actions and has taken on PTSD symptoms. It is ideal that future evaluators do not bring up Victor or that day._

**_Police transmission conference:_ **

_PO: Sherlock would you like to tell what happened? I understand this is difficult for you but we need to know what happened at the river **.**_

_SH: He wanted to leave me…_

_PO: Victor wanted to leave you? What do you mean he wanted to leave?_

_SH: He said his parents were going to move, that I wasn’t going to see him ever again._

_PO: Sherlock, surely you realize that wasn’t his fault. You are a smart boy, he didn’t want to leave you._

_SH:*mumbled* yes he did.._

_PO: sorry, what did you say?_

_SH: Yes he did! He told me he asked his parents to move, he wanted to leave me, why can’t you understand that?_

_PO: alright Sherlock, just calm down. Can you relay to me your conversation, what led to this incident?_

_SH:… we were sitting on our cliff, he was resting his head on my shoulder when he said “Sherlock my parents are moving us.” I was upset and asked why they were making him move. He told me he wanted to go somewhere else… He wanted to…_

_PO: Sherlock, we can take a break if you’d like. We can get you some water._

_SH: okay._

_*TRANSMISSION ENDS*_

The room was painfully silent throughout the people inside, the only sound coming from the heavy breaths that lingered in the air in anticipation while John finished reading.

“…Oh my god.. Sherlock, this can’t be real, right?” He looked over to the man in question, only to see him look down at the floor, his head held in defeat as he couldn’t bare to look John in the eyes.

“Oh good lord…” His kept locked on Sherlock, the file slipping out from his fingers as he felt like his world was tilted off its axis, nothing he previously believed seemed right. This man, this person who he’d spent the last few weeks talking to, laughing with, Sharing stories about his life with murdered a little boy.

He felt the entire room’s eyes on him besides Sherlock’s. His heart sinking into his stomach as his feet began to move on their own accord, pushing past the guards and Mycroft to make their way to the nearest exit.

“John wait, please!”

John couldn’t stand to look back to him, only imagining the desperate look over his face, his eyes begging to look at John’s own and find some sympathy for what he now knew, he wouldn’t find anything but disturbance in his eyes.

The sudden harsh wind that hit his face as he walked outside only forced him to recognize the tears that were forming in his eyes. His face growing red and cold as he made his way to the helicopter, taking one last glance back to the building before he climbed inside.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly loved writing Rosie's dialog for this chapter :)

John decided to end his relationship with Sherrinford and look for another job elsewhere; the few days he spent after the day he labeled as “what the fuck, I need to reevaluate my life choices day” were being spent with his daughter Rosie.

He was laid outstretched on the couch after a long night of staying up to watch the newest episode of “Horrible histories”, which he couldn’t be happier that she was watching something educational, but the stupid death song was starting to get to become grating.

His eyes were slowly beginning to shut to rest in a dreamless sleep until he was pulled away by a tiny soft hand touching his face.

“Papa? Papa I drew sometin.”

“mm… that’s great sweetheart.. what is it?” He slowly sat up and stretched, still longing for the comfortable position he was in but he was looking forward to whatever Rosie did.

She held up the thick postcard sized piece of paper that she preferred to draw on, seeing the familiar shape of her and John and a taller figure with messy dark scribbles on the top of their head.

“This is lovely, baby. Um, who is this?” He pointed to the figure that appeared to be holding hands with his drawn self.

“That’s Sherloc, papa! You said he was taller tan you, with dark curly hair and pretty blue eyes. Did I get him right, papa?”

John looked over the picture of the three of them, Sherlock standing close to John and their hands together. Both of them smiling in the picture caused a small, if tired smile to grow on John’s face.

“Yeah sweetheart you did,” He placed the picture to the side and picked her up to sit on his lap, looking over the picture with her as she seemed very excited he liked it. “Why did you draw him with us? He doesn’t live here.”

She looked up to him with a strange look on her face, almost as if she was confused by how dismissive of this person he used to talk nonstop about. “You talk about him a lot; I thought you would like it if I drew him.”

“Oh, I do like it sweetheart. I was just wondering is all…” He stood with her on his hip, walking over to the fridge to hang up to picture as he loved seeing the collection of her drawings up there. The newest to the collection sending a small shiver down his back as his eyes continued to lock on the connected hands of him and Sherlock.

He soon went back to the couch and started cleaning up for bed, putting away toys and art supplies to at least have it clean for tomorrow. Carrying Rosie to bed and beginning to tuck her in to it to help her sleep better.

“Papa, are you gonna go see Sherloc tomorrow?”

“No sweetheart I decided to leave that job, remember?” He gently patted her hand that was resting on top of the blanket; he didn’t want to talk anymore about it, especially not with his three year old.

“Why?” He let out a small sigh, of course she would drop the issue, why would she? She _was_ a three year old after all.

“Um… Okay Rosie, I… I learned something about Sherlock that was more than I could handle, and I left. I’ll admit, it wasn’t the proper reaction at the time, but it was only one that came to mind.”

His daughter laid there quietly for a while, her eyes wandering over his face to see the contrasting degrees of distress that were etched into his face as he stared back at her small face.

“Why would one thing about him stop you from being friends?” She at this point, sat up. She was too awake now to stop talking about Sherlock, especially when her dad barely gave any information about the man normally.

“Because Rosie, it was a very bad thing. It’s hard to keep being friends with someone who’s done something really bad, baby…” He leaned over to gently lay her down again, a silent plea to go to sleep. He was just finishing up tucking her in when she spoke again, the labor of this conversation really starting to get to him.

“Did he really do it, papa? Miss Armstron says you can’t blame someone without eve.. evidence.”

He began to nod to himself, his hands sliding over his tired eyes as he continued the conversation. “Yeah sweetheart, I saw some evidence. It was in the fi…”

He slowly looked up the bed sheets to Rosie, suddenly questioning what he’d really read. From what he could remember, There was never any actual evidence or paper that actually stated someone saw him drowning the poor kid, only one saying that said Mycroft found him shaking Trevor try and wake him up.

“oh my god,” he turned to fully face Rosie, giving her a wide smile before giving her a big kiss on the forehead, smiling all the more when she giggled and kissed his nose back. “I have to make a phone call, hun. Have sweet dreams for me, alright?”

She gave him a gentle nod, his smile still infectious as she had her own still on her face when she closed her eyes when John left the room.

He had barely made it back into the living room when he pulled out his phone, typing in the contact with shaking fingers as he finally hit the dial symbol under Mycroft’s name. The anxious feeling in his chest only growing the longer it took for the man to pick up.

He was relieved when the next to last ring, Mycroft picked up. Yet just having to hear the man’s voice again only allowed the annoyance in his voice to show. “Mycroft, listen to me. I know I said I quit and I didn’t want to be involved with Sherrinford anymore, but I _need_ to take another look at Sherlock’s file.”

_“Watson, there is absolutely no point in that.”_

“Why’s that? I thought you cared about Sherlock more than anything else?”

_“That’s not the point-“_

“Then what _Is_ the point, Mycroft? Why is it not necessary to look at his file again?”

_“John, Sherlock is missing.”_

“…What?”

_“Don’t’ make me repeat myself, I know you heard me.”_

“…You know Mycroft, you are an absolute cock up at your Job.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was wondering if I should edit the summary for this story? if so, I'm not sure what to change


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay in getting this chapter posted, I had several technical issues with my computer that caused what i'd written to be deleted, and the urge to write after that incident was definitely diminished. Either way, I do hope you enjoy!

It was infuriatingly easy to leave Sherrinford, due to the incompetence of an easily charmed guard who allowed him to leave with them once their shift ended with the promise of certain “favors”. It was a mistake to allow him to explore almost every inch of the facility, and now they knew why. He was now sitting in a crowded tube full of people who seemed to try and spread warmth like a huddle of penguins.

He didn’t mind really, as the train brought back happy memories of him and his father travelling to and from his work, to come home and be greeted by warm hugs from his mother. Her gentle suggestion to get some dinner to warm themselves up from the London cold; a happy memory he didn’t often remember.

He was practically shoved from his thoughts when the sliding doors opened, a herd of people beginning to push one another in and out of the train so much so that he felt as if he was going to be crushed between them. He finally made his way out onto the surface, taking in the cold air as he hailed a cab with ease.

Pushing a loose curl that fell from his cap as he stepped inside, he took a moment to look over himself. Still surprised at how a simple hat, sunglasses and an ill-fitting jacket allowed him to change his appearance so easily.

“Hey mate, you gonna get in the cab or just gonna stare at yourself the whole time?”

“Hm? oh, do you know how to get to Musgrave Hall?”

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The overgrown weeds and grass brushed against Sherlock’s pant legs as he walked through the yard, stepping over misplaced rocks and overgrown roots to make his way towards the front of the dilapidated house.

He went to turn the door knob to find the door stuck. He began to push his body weight against it, nearly falling onto his side as the door flew open and threw him inside. He steadied himself as he looked around, seeing the accumulation of dust that flew through the thin stream of light that came from broken windows in the house.

He quickly shed his disguise on the wooden floor, stopping once he heard the dull thump of the floor made him move back over to his forgotten items. Looking through jacket pockets till he saw the gentle arch of a brow bone and he pulled out the skull.

He slightly smiled to himself as he looked down at it, letting it rest in his hands as he began walking throughout the house. Running his hand along the peeling wallpaper that led him into the living room, a small sigh escape his throat as he reached down to touch the still soft carpet. Remembering the days where he would lay on that carpet for hours just staring at the dimming embers of the fire. The memory urged him to run his fingers through the fibers, feeling the slight shaggy texture still sustained before he stood up and continued to walk around.

He was just about to walk upstairs when he looked to see the garden door, a sudden looming sense crawling up the back of his neck, calling him to open it. The feeling practically overwhelming as he made his way to the door and pulled it open.

The cold morning air was the first thing that hit him as he walked out onto the garden patio, grass growing through the cracked stone as he could see the state of the yard he used to run through without care, now he was no longer able to walk through the grass without his foot catching on a root.

He was so busy watching where he stepped, he barely noticed how the soil began to form into dull rounded stones and the cold breeze hitting his face told him where he was. He could never forget the smell of that river.

He looked around as he felt the skull beginning to press into his chest from his grip, looking to the small cliff hanging over the moving river where he felt he could almost see himself running up and down the rock when he was young.

He moved towards the hill before he could stop himself, his steps almost instinctive as he climbed the cliff much easier than he used to.

_“Come on, Sherlock! You’re almost there.”_

His hand brushed the base of the skull in his arm as he reached the top, letting out a small sigh of relief as he looked over the level rock that seemed to span on to the edge of the horizon itself, Sherlock taking a seat on the rock with the skull not far behind as it was sat next to him.

Everything felt so serene, so quiet, and absolutely peaceful, it was as if he never left. Victor was right beside him with his head on his shoulder, both of them looking towards the sunset that never could stop their perfect day.

The only thing that ruined this was the sudden whirring close to his head enough to blow his hair out of order. He looked up to see a fairly blinding light shining on him, Along with more than one helicopter hovering above him with what he could already feel Mycroft’s disappointing glare looking back at him.

He let out a small sigh as he picked up the skull and stood up, looking up to them and impatiently waiting for something to happen.

What he wasn’t expecting was a flimsy ladder to come down from the helicopter and john to climb down. This already wasn’t going to go well; now with john here it was only going to get worse.

John finally dropped onto the rock and stood in front of Sherlock, slightly stretching out his arms before dropping them to his sides again.

“Hi, Sherlock..”

Sherlock didn’t answer, keeping his gaze straight ahead and past John as he couldn’t bear to look at him.

“Sherlock, look I’m really sorry-“

“You’re sorry? Oh dear, what could you possibly be sorry for? Abandoning me, not speaking to me, never even coming back so I could explain myself? Why would you need be sorry for that?” The venom of his words did their intended purpose, as his gaze soon locked with John to see the hurt expression on his face. It hurt to see him like that, but his own pain was starting to outweigh his worry for the man.

“Sherlock will you just shut up and listen to me?” The exasperated tone in his voice came out much more desperate than he intended, but it apparently stopped whatever rant Sherlock had been preparing for him. The man instead looking away from him with his head to the ground ad he held the skull closer to his chest.

“Okay, Sherlock I know just walking away from you was a mistake. I never gave you the chance to explain yourself and the situation between you and victor, I am sure that’s been the problem for you for a long time. I am here to listen to you, okay?”

Sherlock had looked back up to him and stared at John, as if he was an absolute stranger to him. A slight twitch in his eye the only indicator of his anger that he left bubbling in his stomach. “You’re just like him, you know?... That’s probably why I connected with you in the first place, but you, you like left me just like him! Everything you do, you say, why did you have to be so much like him?...”

John hesitantly approached Sherlock and wrapped his fingers around one of Sherlock’s wrists, the action seemingly stopping the man in his rant as he stared at where their bodies connected, the warmth transferring into his cold skin as his fingers instinctively wrapped around his hand. “Sherlock, I know this subject upsets you, but I need to keep clam, otherwise things won’t end well with these people. Do you think we could talk on the patio without them thinking you’ll jump off?”

Sherlock let out a small chuckle as he nodded, the rage he felt slowly dissipating as he followed John to Musgrave’s overgrown back patio, and something about John whenever he spoke made him feel so at ease. It was almost anxiety inducing as he never understood why he felt such a way about him.

They made their way to the patio and sat down on weather damaged chairs that could break any second, all while a rather large group of guards stood in formation with Mycroft at the front of them. The rather distracting sight was pulled from Sherlock’s view when John began to speak.

“Okay Sherlock, I know we always left this topic alone when we spoke in your sessions, but can you please tell me exactly what you remember about the day victor died?” His hand still held Sherlock’s as he allowed the man to keep a somewhat tight grip on their connected digits to ease him.

Sherlock took a moment to answer, clearly attempting get a grasp on the details after such a long time. “We… we were playing by the river and took a rest on the cliff, after we caught our breath he began to tell me he had to move. I was upset and asked why, but he only said he _wanted_ to move. I don’t.. I don’t remember what happened between then and when I was trying to wake him up.. This isn’t the least bit helpful.”

“No, no don’t say that Sherlock, any information you can think of might be helpful. Can you try to remember anything else that happened?”

“I.. John I’m sorry, I can’t-“

“Sherlock, just breathe, alright? Is there something you can do to jog your memory?” He paused as he spoke, a quick flash of Sherlock’s file from his first day came to him, the cryptic words that were almost completely unreadable to him at the time.

_Do not mention REDBEARD_

“Sherlock, what is Redbeard?...”

Sherlock’s face went impossibly paler; all the red on his cheeks and nose from the cold drained out of his skin and left his body. His breathing began to pick up and john began to feel the man’s hand begin to almost violently shake where it lay.

“Sherlock, Sherlock speak to me,” He stood to walk over to him, lightly shaking him by the shoulders and holding his face still. The warmth from his hands seeming to calm Sherlock down enough to breathe easily. “Sherlock, what is Redbeard?”

Sherlock soon looked up to him, his eyes glassy as he stood and wiped his eyes. Looking over to the thick patch of forest that surrounded the house before he ran back over to the river, dragging John behind him.

The sudden movement of the guards seemed so distant as Sherlock stopped by the riverbank and stood John beside him, having a clear view of the cliff as the sunset hit it just so. “After he told me he was moving, I came down here to, to go inside. He must’ve followed me down at some point; I was standing near the patio and turned around when I heard him talking to someone.”

He spun the two around to simulate the movement, pointing to the spot Victor was standing in so many years ago just before his death.

“He, he was talking to a man I’d seen before… He used to show up to our school and Victor’s birthdays any chance he seemed to get. He told me he was Victor’s uncle, but he didn’t seem to have any relation to the family… I… I only knew him as Redbeard due to his hair.” Sherlock wiped his eyes again as he took a moment to breathe, remembering the man’s face so clearly now. The sneaking eyes that seemed to follow him and Victor wherever they went, that cruel smile that appeared on his face whenever he managed to speak to one of them, all surrounded by a scraggly ginger beard that reminded him of a raging fire.

“He, he um… He was speaking to Victor by the river but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. I was focused on something black and shining on his belt loop when I saw Victor push him away. Redbeard instead pushed him down on the ground and…” He let out a shaky breath as he walked over to the spot he’d been pointing to, running his hand over the smooth stones and clutching a few in his hands.

“He had dropped the gun on the ground he pushed Victor down, God… Victor, he was screaming and kicking against him. I only stopped hearing him when I, I looked to see him holding his head underwate-…” He had to stop and collect himself as he could feel his throat burning with every swallow he took, silent tears running down his face as he took one last deep breath before continuing.

“I.. I made my way as quietly as I could to the gun and picked it up. I saw Victor scratching at his arms and kicking him, but he just kept pushing him down… I shot him in the left side of his back, it was enough to make him let go of him and..” His head shot up towards the forest again, and he began to make his way to the edge of it. Following a particular path until he made it to a certain point. Pushing back the wet soil and moss from where he was digging, John soon knelt down and began to help.

John was the first to find a weathered and broken up femur in the dirt, Sherlock only kept digging as he soon touched many pieces of what was once a rib cage. “He had fallen on his back after I shot him. I, I don’t think he saw I was the one who shot him… The last I saw of him was he was stumbling to the woods and must’ve bled out..That's why Vic.. why he wanted to leave..."

Sherlock finally fell to his knees after barely being able to hold himself for his explanation; his knees could barely hold himself up and finally gave way underneath him as he stared at the uncovered bones. His shaking hand clutching at the leaves on the ground while the other covered his mouth in an attempt to control his breathing.

John quickly noticed and came over to hold him in his arms, his fingers running through the man’s cold curls on his head as he felt Sherlock sob into his shoulder. “I know, I know Sherlock.. I know it hurts after so long of not knowing.. Yet now you know, you know it wasn’t your fault he died.”

Sherlock slowly looked up to him, his fingers tightly wrapped in the fabric of John’s jacket as he slowly nodded, lowering his head back into his shoulder as he felt John’s arms wrap around him.

The quiet surroundings of the woods gave a sense as if they were the only two in the world, free from the pain and self-doubt that seemed to consistently surround them. They were held in each other’s arms, a safe haven from the tragedies that existed outside of them, a place they finally felt truly safe in… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a wild ride to write, so please let me know if I've made any mistakes anywhere. This isn't the last chapter in this story as I'm planning to write an epilogue, so be prepared to see it being posted soon! I really hope you've enjoyed the story so far.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe we're finally at the end, In the middle I never thought I would actually finish a story but here we are! I hope you enjoy.

With the new evidence that Sherlock was really falsely accused of the murder of Victor, it was obvious that he could no longer be kept at Sherrinford. The new question was now what was he to do once he was released? He was assigned counseling with a few of the world’s leading psychologists to help open up about his friend’s death, but he never did respond as well as he did in his sessions with John, and it was ultimately his decision to continue speaking with John.

  
It came to the point where they both decided it would be much easier if Sherlock and John to move in together, they claimed it was the “obvious” choice for both of them when it was suggested. Yet Mycroft could see the alternative motive even from a thousand miles away.

  
It turned out that Sherlock was excellent with children, as Rosie took to him instantly. Constantly asking him questions and asking to help him on cases he was working on, It now became a habit of Sherlock’s to play a gentle lullaby on his violin in order to help her sleep better.

  
It was after one of these nights, when Rosie was sound asleep and the two men were lying exhausted on the couch that Sherlock spoke to address a thought that had been long stirring in his head.

  
“John?”

  
“mm?...” His eyes were already closed as he turned his head towards the man speaking, doing his best to stay awake as well as listen.

  
“I think it’s time.” He gently tapped John’s arm when he started leaning his head to the side, John’s head snapping back up to look at him as he rubbed his eyes.

  
“Time? Time for what, Sherlock?” 

  
Sherlock let out a soft sigh as he rubbed John’s arm and stood up, making his way to the mantel where the last few burning embers in the fireplace remained, to reach for the skull that carefully sat in its certain position. He soon took it down, bringing it back over to the couch to let John look at it.

  
“Oh, that time… Sherlock are you really sure about this? You don’t have to, you know.”

  
“I know, I just… I think it’s time to move past it.” He looked up from running his finger over the slight brow on the skull, looking to john who’s hand was already holding Sherlock’s.

  
“Okay, I think we can arrange something for tomorrow, now how about we head to bed?” He gave Sherlock a tired smile as the younger man nodded back to him, setting the skull back in its place before they went off to bed.

  
>>>>>>>>>>>

  
The weather couldn’t have been more fitting for the day as the rain tumbled down around their feet, soaking into the cuffs of their trousers while thick coats and hefty umbrellas were all that protected them from the rain.

  
Rosie clasped both of their free hands as they looked over the short grave that was unearthed after so many years, Sherlock seeming so distant as he looked over the wet soil, seeing it as a void that he could easily slip into and continue falling.

  
John quickly touched his shoulder to ground him once again, slipping his hand into Sherlock’s with Rosie’s in between theirs. “Hey, it’s okay… We don’t have to do this right now, we can wait a little more.”

  
Sherlock shook his head as he held onto their hands, keeping himself steady while he looked over the simple headstone. “No, no.. I need to do this, it’s in the past now. I can’t hang onto him forever…”

  
He looked back down to the skull and its vacant stare back at him, a shaky breath leaving his throat as he pressed a gentle kiss to the forehead. Letting his grip slowly and unnaturally loosen around the familiar object until the skull fell away from his fingers and into the inky black soil.

  
The men standing on either side of them began to shovel the soil back into its place, John able to feel the pain radiating from Sherlock’s body just by their touch. He soon pressed a kiss to his cheek, allowing the man to rest his head on his shoulder to look away from the rest of the soil covering up the one person he had loved for so long, to finally give the poor boy peace in whatever was next for him.

  
Once the ground was back in its place, Sherlock allowed his hand to run over the wet stone of the grave, giving a gentle pat one last time and allowing a small amount of water to splash back to him. He let out a soft laugh as it was a fairly accurate statement to their years together; his sad smile remained on his face as he walked away with John and Rosie on his side. 

  
He Never once blinked away the few tears that fell to his cheeks until he reached the cab, where he finally allowed himself to close his eyes. Falling into a peaceful sleep on John’s shoulder and with Rosie in his lap as the cab drove them back home.

  
The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I truly hope you enjoyed this story, It was a thrill for me to write and I never thought I'd be able to actually do it. Writing was always a passion of mine and this site has properly brought me back there after years of no inspiration. Thank you for reading my story and please leave me a comment to tell me what you thought

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fan-fiction on this site so constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated. I'm always attempting to improve my writing and this work is the first one I've felt was good enough to post.
> 
> This is going to be longer than expected, and I will not be able to update everyday.


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